Monday, 20 June 2016

It’s not new to state that everyone is a bad feminist. No matter how empowered, vocal and disciplined you are in your words and actions, culture impedes; anti-feminist behaviours ensue.

This applies to myself in ways in which I agree and disagree with. I’m a bad feminist because I shave my legs (I’ll agree, and I don’t care.) I’m a bad feminist because I will possibly take my future husbands’ last name (I disagree; a motion for a separate post that I may never write, because again, I don’t care.) I’m a bad feminist because I sometimes judge other woman negatively for the way they dress and behave (I completely agree, and this is what I want to talk about.)

A couple of girlfriends and I managed to catch last call at a bar after work a few nights ago. We work in a very conservative establishment with some pretty averagely misogynistic coworkers who we listen to disparagingly as they make sexist remarks towards women. Remarks that they find hilarious and we see as obvious put-downs simply because they know deep down that that woman would never sleep with them. Regardless, they think they are harmless and it’s the norm. They aren’t wrong about the normal bit; it is the restaurant industry. My point being: our work place pretends to be stuffy and proper, whilst we are constantly being reminded that dressing with much skin showing means douchey men are going to make crude comments either to your face or to someone else about how you look like a slut.

The bar in which we sought our nightcaps was much more . . . low key (but undoubtedly contained its own everyday misogynists, possibly more.) The servers wore their own clothes and we’d laughingly noticed a trend that they all seemed to be wearing dresses resembling oversized men’s shirts and no pants. One particular dress was so short we kept trying to convince ourselves she must have shorts on underneath. I actually thought it was a super cute dress. Personally, I wouldn’t wear it and would have felt really uncomfortable in something that short, especially at work.
We had a brief discussion about the clothing choice in which one of my friends remarked it was “outrageous,” and the other said it was “slutty.” These are two friends who I see as strong, smart and kind. I don’t think they meant to be mean or hurtful, and that lovely server would never know anything was said. I’m sure a defense would be, “We said her outfit was slutty, we didn’t say she was slutty.”

This is one of those moments where two days later I finally collected my thoughts and now want to go back and say how I really feel about that situation. I don’t have time machine, so I’m writing it here instead:

These kinds of comments promote rape culture. I’m aware it sounds like a bit of an exaggeration, but hear me out. We know one of the prime arguments in rape cases is, “She was asking for it.” This could be because of where she was, how she was dancing, because she kissed him, but most often it’s because of what she was wearing. I KNOW you would agree that what you wear never constitutes excusing rape. Nothing excuses rape. Yet when we use terms regarding sexuality and sexual promiscuity to describe someone’s clothing style or the way they look, we are also saying the reverse of that is true: someone’s clothing or style is a plausible representation of their sexuality and determiner of promiscuity. More so, it’s saying that female sexual promiscuity and admittance of such is something to be ashamed of. Let me be clear, clothing choice is not an admittance of sexual promiscuity; fashion is fashion. Sex is sex. Even if that lovely server was looking for flirtatious advances from other people through her choice in clothing, it still says absolutely nothing about her level of sexual activity. She still isn’t asking for it. So why are we using language about sexual promiscuity to describe fashion?

Here’s what we really don’t want to acknowledge: it’s rape culture that gave us those terms. It’s rape culture that tells us a woman’s sexual promiscuity is shameful. It’s our patriarchal culture that determines how much leg is acceptable to show.

Even the eyes of a feminist woman is wearing shades tinted with misogyny. And don’t you dare feel bad about it! Not for one minute! Whether you are a man or a woman; whether you agree with the term “feminist” or prefer to say “gender equality” because it comes with less baggage; whether it’s a really important issue for you, or whether you could care less, take a second to consider where your “slutty” commentary is coming from and why you are choosing to put down women and our sexuality just to vocalize your opinion about someone else’s clothing or behaviour. It’s none of your fucking business anyway.

Thursday, 17 December 2015

I’ve got two weeks left. TWO WEEKS! That’s nothing, comparatively, and yet it feels like a millennium away.

I’ve done a fairly shitty job articling my journey, thus a long(ish) summary of how this has all made me feel is well deserved.

You know one of the biggest reasons I haven’t written more? Because I’m worried you’ll find it boring. I keep thinking you’ll get half way through (if that) and then decide it’s “too deep” or “too serious” and stop reading. I mean, it’s not like this is a blog about traveling the world, or doing other exciting things, like baking gluten-dairy-soy-free vegan muffins. But this one isn’t for the people who think it’s boring. This one is for all of the people who wonder if maybe they drink too much, or feel guilty, or wonder if life would be better if they just stopped for a while. This one is to all of those, who like me, think that if they could just cut out their vices that their life would be “on track.”

Do I have my shit together? Most days I don’t think I have my shit together. Compared to how together I want my shit to be, it’s not that together. But I’m sure, to some people, it looks like I have my shit pretty together. (I’m done with the shitty paragraph.) (That one’s for Stacy.)

Stopping drinking didn’t get my life together. What actually happened was that I chose to stop drinking because I wanted to get my life together. So the actual catalyst wasn’t the lack of alcohol (although in many ways it made it a lot easier), but actually just making a choice to prioritize my life differently in order to put what really mattered first. Granted, I removed what was a huge part of my life to make room for all the other things, so I’d be lying if I said sobriety hadn’t allowed me to accomplish more.

Maybe you’re wondering if I think it was worth it. Was giving up a year of wine on date nights, ciders on the patio with friends, gluhwein at the Christmas Market and après ski cocktails worth everything I gained? Of course. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH MONEY I SAVED!?! I mean, I don’t even think I realized how expensive my love of all things alcohol had become. We all say we know, but until you actually do it, for an entire year, through every holiday and season, you have no idea.

Now, I’m not sure if it’s just because at this point I’m well-adjusted to my new clean liver, but my brain power and my body don’t feel all that “clearer.” I really anticipated waking up with more energy and feeling mentally quicker. Maybe I did, and now I’m just accustomed to it. Truthfully, I guarantee I’d feel better just exercising more without needing to cut out the booze. Science may argue my anecdote. Sometimes I think I feel more tired, but that’s probably just because I’m busy over accomplishing every day with my lack of hangovers and unrealized brain potential. *wink, wink*

Did I miss it? Did I ever! I want to be invited out again! More so, I actually want to want to go when I get invited out. It’s one thing for your friends to not include you because you’re the sober one. It’s a whole other pile of self-pity when you bail because you’re the sober one. But I mean, you drunk people really aren’t as much fun as you think you are. Sorry!

What I miss most, is just forgetting. Now, now, I know you aren’t supposed to drink to forget, and that’s definitely the sign of some unresolved issues. But take it from a woman who just spent a year facing her life (and it’s a pretty darn easy one) without an alcohol break. I have a lot of relaxing hobbies; yoga, colouring, knitting, tea drinking, reading, journaling, going for walks. . . essentially I’m a pretty active 70 year old! But none of those things pull you away from the world like a single glass of Tempranillo can. I’m not saying I want to get hammered and try to forget that I’m still serving when I’m nearly thirty (trust me, I’ve dealt with that. . . the colouring is a god send, I swear!) I could happily say I could go the rest of my life dealing with my stress alcohol-free. But I don’t want to. I want to have a couple ounces of scotch some nights after a really long work night and just relax. You know how in relationships it’s said that we should choose our battles? Like, sometimes you just need to let it go? Well, sometimes the relationship is with yourself, and sometimes a beer after work with the guys is the best way to “let it go.”

I’m not putting any expectations on what getting off the wagon is going to be like. I can 100% promise I’m not going to party like it’s my 19th birthday (I didn’t party that hard then, anyway.) To be honest, it just doesn’t feel like that big of a deal anymore. I’m more so just excited to take the leash off. Spending an entire year telling yourself you can’t do something you really enjoy is hard. And as I type that sentence I realize it’s also kind of stupid. It was a great, challenging, extremely enlightening experience that I’m happy to say I can’t see myself doing again (exceptions being pregnancy and supporting friends.)

More than anything, I’m really looking forward to sharing a bottle of wine (or scotch) with my man who’s been the most supportive and patient boyfriend a sober chick could ask for. A year later, life still doesn’t feel normal without the occasional alternate reality provide by alcohol, and I’m totally okay with admitting that.

My advice after all this? If you think you need a break, you probably do. How long that break should be really depends on how long it will take for you to reprioritize your habits so that alcohol doesn’t come before things like: relationships, financial stability, health, career. . . as a matter of fact, alcohol doesn’t get to come before anything. If alcohol is priority over anything actually important in your life, get yourself some help. Feel free to contact me; I know some great people you can talk to.

Cheers to you and yours over the holidays! Enjoy that [extra] glass of bubbly on my account.

Tuesday, 24 November 2015

It was 22 months ago that I wrote a blog dictating my issues
with alcohol. Listing all the reasons I could detail as to why it is just
plain bad for us, you can clearly tell from that blog that I had a negative
view of drinking entirely. I thought it was (plausibly) the reason that I didn’t
reach my goals, or why I ever felt unhappy. It took nine months of
sobriety for me to realize that none of that was true.

It was an excuse. What used to be a hangover, is now blaming
the weather for not going for a morning run. What I used to blame on my
over-active social life, I now blame on. . . well, my still over-active social
life (some things don’t change.) The ever-challenging savings account I
constantly used to spend on nights out with friends, I’ve found other things to
spend it on (like, writing conferences!) And my happiness? Well, that I’ve learned is a state of being, not
a place you can get to.

I promise I’m not just an unproductive slob; I have
accomplished so much this year in my sobriety. But it wasn’t because of the absence
of alcohol. It was because I finally prioritized my life—something that I know
I can do exactly the same while enjoying the occasional spirited beverage.

You can tell in that original blog I wrote that I had a
pretty negative and guilty feeling about drinking. This is something that will
not being continuing into my new year. If I’ve accepted anything over the
course of the last 327 days sober, it’s that pursuing something simply because
you enjoy it, is a positive. As Kurt Vonnegut says, “We’re here on Earth to
fart around, and don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Thursday, 16 July 2015

I’d started this sobriety adventure with
the key point being that it would give me something to write about each week.
Excuses galore and 6 months later, I’ve written a handful of posts and then
abandoned the idea altogether. It hasn’t felt like a journey I’ve wanted to
write about—even in my own journal. I’ll whine about it to friends often, and
describe my experiences to those curious enough to get past the “I could never
do that” statement. However, now just over half way and remembering back to
what I had anticipated this point feeling like, has inspired some
sharing.

I thought after 6 months of reinstating
habits of not drinking I’d stop missing it. At this point willpower is not an
issue, cravings are non-existent, and my social habits have changed
significantly (night life? What’s that?. . . just kidding—I still work in a
bar.) BUT, those expectations have been shattered. I miss it. More than I did 5
months, more than I did 2 weeks ago. In fact, I miss it so much, I sometimes
forget why I started doing this to begin with* and resent myself for making
this decision, despite the pride in my accomplishment.

The fact that I’m missing it so much is
why I haven’t been writing about it. I’m scared that speaking negatively about
my experience will discourage others from taking a hiatus from their vice to
put their energy towards “real” life (more on that in a future blog.) There
are so many benefits to staying sober. Overall, I feel better about myself and
have so much more time and money to pursue things which makes my sense of
autonomy and self-efficacy skyrocket, translating directly into more motivation
than I know what to do with.

I’ve also had to realize I face high
levels of anxiety that drinking helped me avoid wholly feeling; I’d still acknowledge
and work on those thoughts, but a glass of wine would make it easier to forget
about them come bedtime and sleep a little cozier until the next day when I
could actually get up and face the troubles head on. Sans booze, I’m stuck
circling those emotions and—in typical Miranda fashion—over-analyzing my
worries to the point of spiraling anxiety attacks. On the positive side, a
little help from some counselling sessions (and admittedly, the odd visit to
Mary Jane), and I’m proud to say I can actually calm myself down and sleep just
fine. . . usually.

You know what the biggest kicker is of
this whole sober trek? Feeling left out. I know, I know, my friends still
invite me out to big gatherings, and coffee hang outs, and walks along the
seawall. That sounds great, right? And I do try to stay positive about it, but
the truth is, I know its awkward being the only sober person amongst a group of
tipsy-to-drunk individuals. No drunk person wants to talk to a sober person! It
makes you feel self-conscious. I’m also regularly bailed-on for daytime
hangouts because of other people’s hangovers, so I feel like I’m just missing out
on both the social fun night and the
social fun days. And meeting new girlfriends? It’s a like a not-so-secret code
that bonding over a bottle of wine is a check-box to being considered more than
just a Facebook Friend. Maybe I have the wrong friends? No. I love my friends
and I don’t have a single person in my life that I call a friend who doesn’t
enjoy alcohol regularly (some more often than others, but that’s beyond the
point.)

So I was naïve. Beginning this journey, my
fear used to be that I would never go back to drinking again; I now know that
won’t be the case. Perhaps in some ways it taints my experience because I know
one day I’ll be back on the train and therefore not fully immersing and
adapting on this new path. What I’m only starting to understand is my new
relationship with alcohol and how I view it (words for another blog.)
Especially how culture, history and tradition have impacted my (our?) views on
drinking and drug use.

In finally admitting this isn’t all I
talked it up to be, to myself and to you, I think I’m ready to share again.
It’s easier when it comes from truth.

*For those interested in why I started
doing this, it was essentially to write more, save a ton of money, reset my
social habits, and spend my time doing healthy activities and business
building, rather than being hungover and staying out too late with
acquaintances made friends under the influence of alcohol. You can read more
about that by clicking here.

Monday, 25 May 2015

I often hear people say they were “saved” from depression. Maybe it was music, maybe it was yoga, maybe it was God, or a puppy, but I know I hear it lots. People rarely word it so it sounds as though they saved themselves from depression. It makes me want to call myself a victim and wait to be saved. It makes me want to curl up under the covers and watch my life shrivel until it looks like a worm on a sidewalk on a sunny day and do nothing about it while I wail that the world has yet to come save me. It really does. And if I’m being completely vulnerable, it makes me want to stop eating. And not “I’m so sad I’ve lost my appetite.” I want to stop eating because it gives me something else painful to feel. Because focusing on my eating disorder and how skinny I still want to be, is easier than trying to figure out why I’m so sad all the time. Because the physical pain of starvation is actually easier to handle [in my mind] than working through whatever is bubbling up out of me right now. But I want to be healthy, and I don’t want to put those who love me through more stress than knowing I’m depressed will already put them through. And in remembering how hard it was to get out of the anorexia cycle last time, I’m very eager to stay clear of that dark and lonely path.

I’m smart enough to know I’m not a victim. I’m fortunate enough to know that while people don’t vocally admit to saving themselves from depression (how humble those individuals must be!) that I’m the only one who can take steps forward. That I can choose to put energy and passion into something outside of myself—be it yoga, music or simply, writing more.

Knowing that, I think makes it harder. I mean, I can imagine what it would feel like to not know how to make it better. Those lost in sorrow moments, with no direction. I’m not saying I see a light at the end of a tunnel; I honestly don’t think my depression is any better or worse than others, but why compare? I feel sad and it sucks. I shower, and make myself eat, get myself to work and do yoga almost every day. I hear of depressed people (and some not depressed people) who don’t do that much. As I said, I think it makes it harder, feeling like I have to save myself from myself, while trying not to focus too much on myself, and being mad at myself for not having saved myself by now. Get it? I’m depressed that I’m depressed and even more depressed that I haven’t un-depressed myself yet.

And you know what makes me madder? I thought this arbitrary, undefined anxiety and depression would be alleviated with my continued sobriety.

And what makes me even madder? That I’m such a perfectionist (which somehow I’d forgotten about myself) that just admitting to being depressed makes me feel like I’ve failed—again. Just to expand on this, even when I go to see my counselor, in the back of my head I’m constantly aware that I want her to see me as “succeeding” despite lack of progression. What does that even mean?!

My life is actually pretty great. I think that makes this all easier and harder; so much to enjoy and so little enjoyment to feel. And harder to figure out what the hell is actually wrong. I hope you realize this isn’t a help-cry, or even me looking for support or encouragement. It's just, when you are working through depression, you tend to not tell people, and it's a lonely place. You feel drawn to isolation, yet hate it at the same time. You don't want people to know, but wish they understood. It's not really what people are asking when they greet you with a "How's it going?" I wanted to share with my friends why I’m not around so much, and let them know while I’m not alright, I’ll be alright. And why I’m sort of a cranky and insecure &H!T these days. . .